"Protect me! Guards! Where are the guards?!"
The King's squeals, like a pig being slaughtered, echoed throughout the entire palace. Yet, within the vast, opulent hall, only three people remained standing. No, correction—the King was currently paralyzed on the floor, so that made only two.
Seeing the situation, the assassin could only suppress her own bewilderment. Gritting her teeth, she charged directly at Bellamy. Such head-on charges were more the domain of warriors. For an assassin, undertaking a desperate, suicidal rush like this offered nothing commendable—only a certain tragic, futile bravery.
Bellamy's gaze was entirely focused on her feet, utterly unconcerned with anything else. Using an almost silent method of movement, the assassin closed the distance to Bellamy. Before she could even raise her dagger, Bellamy casually swatted her aside, sending her tumbling.
"I see now. It's like a cat," Bellamy murmured, realization dawning. This time he had seen it clearly. When the assassin moved, it resembled a feline stalking its prey—soft steps, agile turns, bringing her close to the target almost unnoticed. This unique footwork technique made Bellamy feel his detour to this kingdom hadn't been in vain after all.
He couldn't resist mimicking the steps, beginning to walk around the palace hall himself. After only a few paces, the inherent advantage of his Spring-Spring Fruit physique became apparent. When his feet touched the ground, by carefully applying force, the reactive impulse was completely absorbed by his body. No sound emanated from his steps. If he could just eliminate the faint noise his body made moving through the air, he would have essentially mastered this silent movement technique.
The assassin had just scrambled back to her feet when she witnessed a sight that horrified her. This man… after observing her just once, he had already grasped the fundamentals of her Silent Step.
"Monster!" she breathed. Where on earth had this man come from? Why would a monster of this caliber appear in the North Blue?
"Your Majesty, flee! Quickly! I am no match for him!" she shouted, still prioritizing the King's safety even knowing her own fight was hopeless.
Bellamy found himself wondering what possible charisma this fat pig possessed to command such loyalty from a clearly skilled assassin. Trained from childhood as a disposable loyalist? he mused, easily guessing the likely truth. The flicker of appreciation he'd felt earlier slowly morphed into pity. He rarely felt sorry for others, but this time, he experienced a rare, fleeting moment of sympathy.
"An existence even more tragic than a slave," he said softly, almost to himself. "Consider this repayment for teaching me a new movement technique. Allow me to free you from this sea of suffering."
Bellamy's figure instantly vanished from its spot. The next moment, utilizing the principles of the Silent Step he'd just observed, he appeared soundlessly behind the assassin. His movement wasn't just fast; it was almost like teleportation. The assassin didn't even have time to register shock before an immense force slammed into her back.
The loyal death-agent was sent flying as if struck by a heavy cannonball, crashing violently against the ornate royal throne. Her body crumpled like a discarded rag doll, rolled across the floor a few times, and then all signs of life ceased.
"Remember to repay me in the next life," Bellamy murmured, the words carrying a hint of seriousness beyond mere mockery; he knew the underworld existed in this world.
Now, it was time to deal with the useless King. Strangely though, quite some time had passed, yet no one had come to the rescue. He had clearly seen numerous soldiers mustering earlier when he was airborne. Where had they all gone? Something felt off about this kingdom; it was truly peculiar.
"Hey," Bellamy addressed the trembling figure on the floor. "Are you really the King?"
"Don't kill me! Please! I have lots and lots of treasure!" King Bululu III, having already soiled himself in terror, nearly fainted again when Bellamy turned his attention towards him. It was clear Bellamy wouldn't get any useful information out of this pathetic wreck.
He casually placed a hand on the King's head and applied pressure, shoving the man's head down into his torso cavity with brutal finality. "Wasn't originally planning to kill you," Bellamy muttered dismissively, "seeing as you're officially recognized by the World Government." But killing him or not was a trivial matter, entirely dependent on his mood. Besides, the man's incessant wailing had been grating on his nerves.
Just as Bellamy prepared to leave and rejoin his companions, the sound of hurried footsteps echoed from the palace entrance. Not earlier, not later, but arriving precisely at this moment? If that's supposed to be a coincidence, it's rather insulting to my intelligence.
Before long, a group of opulently dressed nobles entered the hall, flanked by several guards who radiated a palpable killing aura. These guards were clearly seasoned experts; the aura of bloodshed clinging to them felt even denser than Bellamy's own, signifying countless life-and-death battles fought at sea.
Bellamy had known the kingdom must possess hidden trump cards; he'd anticipated that before making his move. He had simply assumed the King controlled them. Apparently, that wasn't the case. This King seemed more like a figurehead, a watchdog placed out front by these nobles.
Bellamy's eyes slowly narrowed. Those familiar with him knew this expression signified he was about to get serious.
"Esteemed Pirate Sir," one of the nobles called out smoothly as soon as they entered, "might we perhaps sit down and discuss matters?" They immediately signaled their intention: negotiation, not conflict. What about the dead King? That was a royal family matter, nothing to do with them. As nobles, they were responsible only for their own families. A middle-aged noble with a meticulously groomed mustache stepped forward, a broad smile fixed on his face, hands spread wide in a gesture of peace.
Bellamy hadn't wanted confrontation from the start. If not for that brain-dead officer opening fire on him, he would have finished his business and left by now. Since this group wished to avoid further conflict, it suited his own intentions. However... initiating a fight and then immediately asking for peace? The world didn't offer such convenient resolutions without a price.
"Alright," Bellamy replied coolly. "How exactly do you propose we talk?" The nobles' intentions were transparent: offer him a sum of money to make him leave. Since that was the case, Bellamy fully intended to make an exorbitant demand.
The middle-aged noble smiled and clapped his hands. After a short wait, soldiers dragged forward several weeping women and elderly individuals. "Since it was Major Luger who unfortunately provoked your esteemed self," the noble announced smoothly, "it is only natural that his family should also be handed over to you, Sir Pirate, for appropriate disposal." These were, indeed, the family members of the greedy officer Bellamy had killed earlier. The soldiers roughly pushed them forward, presenting them before Bellamy.
At this moment, every gaze within the palace hall fixed upon Bellamy—a mixture of curiosity, expectation, resentment, disdain—a complex tapestry reflecting the intricate nature of human hearts. Bellamy instantly understood the nobles' ploy. It was nothing more than a test. They were using these few lives to gauge his character, hoping to gain a more advantageous position in the negotiations to follow.
These nobles, Bellamy thought with a flicker of cynical amusement, they certainly know how to play their games. In chaotic times, human life becomes cheap as grass. And the Great Pirate Era? It was the epitome of chaos.